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A snarl escaped Cyrus' lips of it's own volition as the two combatants went down, the gnome's weight and enhanced size bowling into the legionnaire and taking them both to the floor. Immediately, the pressure of the wooden haft upon his windpipe registered in Cyrus' mind, and by reflex his left hand slid down the weapon's length, until it was just between his throat and the wooden haft. He had to slightly scratch the soft skin of his own neck to force his fingers between his flesh and the wood, but quickly managed to get his digets between his windpipe and the spear, allowing for a ragged, rasping breath to be drawn into his body.
He was in a position of disadvantage now however, with his left hand occupied by maintaining some meager passage-way for air, and his right arm being pressed by the spear while the gnome's weight sat atop him. Still however, the soldier would not flag, nor show any signs of yielding. It was not in him to succumb, nor to surrender.
Reacting with the instinct his training and experiance had instilled into him, Cyrus deftly reversed Karvaaka in his right hand, the longsword's light weight and magnificent balance allowing for easier manipulation despite it's size. The gnome's weight on his arm would make any efforts in slashing useless, however the eldritch blade's keen point did not need much assistance to penetrate an armorless foe, only the right position and enough force to puncture soft, yielding flesh. The gnome was face down atop him, arms occupied with keeping him pinned, so Karvaaka moved with methodical deliberation, her reversed gleaming point rising slowly until it was aimed at the gnome's kidneys. The muscles of the legionnaire's forearm and wrist forced against the gnome's efforts, using the raw power contained in his muscular physique to drive the sword's point inexorably towards the vulnerable vital organ.
It was no true strike; only the iron determination of a fierce soldier, guiding the point of his weapon slowly, slowly, towards home.
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